Thursday, July 24, 2008

James Wants That Cake

I wish that lady would stop making so much noise. I come to this coffee shop to drink coffee and read a little before I have to go to work. I don’t want to hear her insipid, keening prattling on. Ok. I get it. Everyone in the coffee shop gets it. She’s getting married. Whoop-dee-freakin-do. I’m getting married too. You don’t hear me making big freaking deal about in front of a roomful of strangers. I swear to God if she keeps this up, she is going to rue this day. Rue it. Ok, first I’m going to turn around and give her one of my patented shut-the-hell up withering stares. That will show her, the stupid…

Hold up, just one second.

There’s cake.

On the table. A lot of cake. They have like boxes of cake over there. What are they doing with all that cake? More importantly, how can I get some of that sweet, sweet pastry in my mouth? Just look at it. They have square cakes, round cakes, thick cakes, thin cakes, cakes adorned with frosted flowers, cakes with classy red icing, cakes sitting on top of larger cakes. It’s a veritable cake wonderland on that table, and I want to be Alice to that cake wonderland. I’ll gladly dive through any number of rabbit holes to frolic freely amongst those frosted delights. And by ‘frolic freely amongst those frosted delights’ I mean eat the fuck out of that cake.

Ok. So how exactly do I go about getting at that cake? What I need is some sort of distraction; introduce a little chaos in the coffee shop. I could yell fire. I could call in some favors. I could convince a friend to come in and pretend to rob the place at gunpoint. Then when everyone’s running around screaming for mercy, I simply walk over and purloin some sweet, sweet pastry. No. None of my friends would do that. Even if they would, they would want a cut of the cake loot. I’m not really looking to share the cake with any of my jerk friends. Maybe I could throw a smoke bomb in the middle of the room. When the joint is filled with thick smoke, I calmly stride over, tuck the cake under my arm, and disappear into the world. That’s a good plan. That could work. Now, where can I find a smoke bomb? It’s not like I carry them around with me on a utility belt. Dammit. Why don’t I have a utility belt fully stocked with wonderful toys like smoke bombs? You know you think about buying some smoke bombs, but you always talk yourself out of it? “When am I ever really going to need a smoke bomb?” You say to yourself. So now, here I am in dire need of a smoke bomb with no damned smoke bombs. Note to self, next time you think about buying smoke bombs; just buy the stupid smoke bombs. They’ll come in handy. There are probably two to three times a day they’ll come in handy.

No. None of those plans will work. I need to come up with something quick. They’re starting to eat the cake. Just look at it. So soft and moist. Is that a raspberry layer? I love when there’s a raspberry layer. I need to get at that cake. I know. I can use my charms. Go over. Start up a conversation. Woo them with my masculine wit and charms. They’ll be eating out of my hands, and all the while I’ll be eating their cake. Shit. Balls. I’m not charming. That will never work. I don’t even like talking to people. Even if I could think of something clever to say, by the time I got to the table all I’d be able to do is kind of hem and haw and be generally all-around awkward. They’ll probably think I’m some sort of babbling idiot. Of course, maybe they’ll take pity on this poor babbling idiot and give him some cake…No. It won’t work. They’ll probably just move to another table and ignore me. That’s what I would do in that situation.

Wait. What’s that? Wedding cake. Of course. Why didn’t I see it? That’s the baker giving samples of the wedding cake. I have an in. I just got engaged. I just have to go over there, and say, “Excuse me. I understand you bake wedding cakes. I just proposed to my girlfriend. We’ll be in the market for a cake soon. Do you mind if I sample your wares, baker lady?” Then I take all that cake, and I eat it. Yeah. That might work. But maybe she’ll want to setup a separate appointment. I don’t want that. I don’t want to wait for cake. I want some cake now. I want that cake in my mouth this instant. What if she won’t give me any cake? What then? Snatch and grab. I can just grab the cake and run like the wind. But they know me here in this coffee shop. They’ll hunt me down. They’ll find me in the woods with my stomach distended, butter-cream frosting all over my face. Then I’ll never be able to show my face in this town again. But it might be worth it. Look at that cake. Each bite looks delicious. Oh, cake. Just look at that engaged chick wolfing it down. Each piece looks more delicious than the last.

Wait. She’s stopped eating. They seem to be going to the counter for some coffee this is my chance. I just got to play it cool and sneak off with some cake. Ok. Just sort of saunter over. I’m just a harmless man looking for the restroom. Don’t look like your hovering. Find the cake. Take the cake. Eat the cake. Don’t make it any more difficult than it has to be. Ok. There’s the box. I’m going in…Empty. The cake. All that cake. It’s…It’s gone. Oh, cruel world. I should have acted sooner. I waited too long. Curse my indecision and lack of smoke bombs. The cake has eluded my grasp…this time. That’s right cake. You got away this time, but next time you may not be so lucky. I’m going to get you cake, and when I do, I’m going to eat you. I swear upon my mother’s life I will have my day in the cake sun. Someday.


Tuesday, July 08, 2008

A Note From James To All The Ladies

Ladies of the world, I regret to inform you I am now engaged to be married. I know this will come as quite the blow to my legion of female admirers. Please, I urge all of you to show some restraint in your mourning. Do not be rash. This announcement is sure to enflame the hearts of all the fine women who have admired me from afar. I admonish you, commit no violence. I know life may not seem worth living knowing I will never be yours, but you cannot fall into despondency. Right now, knowing you will never feel the pure, erotic ecstasy of James’s beard rustling against your cheek, things may appear bleak. But I beg restraint of each and every one you.

Ladies, I know you have followed me quietly from a distance. You have watched me on stage with The Cellar Dwellers. You have listened to my rugged tones on Dodge Intrepid and the Pages of Time. You have read my droll little writings on the interwebs. You are enamored of me. I know. Who can blame you? If I were a comely young lass, I would fantasize about these chiseled masculine features, this broad chest and strong arms, and this thin hair slowly receding from the peak of my skull revealing the pale scalp of masculine desire. If I were a girl, I would be totally into me too. I would fantasize of kissing these rough chapped lips. I would dream of my rude grasping embrace. Really, I can’t blame you young fillies for wanting this, but unfortunately, there is only so much James to go around. Instead of passing it quickly about allowing everyone only a scant taste of the James, I have decided to bestow one lucky girl – my fiancé – with a cup over-flowing of James. She can drink deeply of James and horde me all to herself, while the rest of you fine mistresses can only imagine the sweet taste of this James nectar never to be tasted.

This will be difficult for you. Many of you have built elaborate fantasies around being romanced by me. Many more have imagined themselves entwined in a loving embrace with me, my groping hands all over their woman bits. I hate to tell you fine examples of the fairer sex that these fantasies will never come to pass. I have pledged my love and fidelity to but one woman. I shall be ever faithful. I also urge all of you not to abandon my many projects. I know the success of the Cellar Dwellers and Dodge Intrepid has largely hinged on the perceived availability of all this – when I type ‘this’ I am gesturing toward my face and body. I know young women have been coming to these shows for years just to catch a glimpse of my handsome visage. Please, do not stop coming just because there is now no chance of you ever getting with me. Hopefully, you can come to appreciate the Cellar Dwellers for their humor and creativity and not just as a James delivery system.

Ladies, remain calm and rational in this time of hysteria. I may be off the market, but there are many other men out there. Sure, they cannot hope to measure up to James, but, in time, you will come to accept this. In the meantime, all you fine bitches will have to make do with fantasies. I will always be available to you in the fertile fields of your dreams. Even though these fantasies have been neutered by the loss of the possibility of attainment, fantasies are all I have to offer. No, ladies, I will never make sweet, sweet love to you, but if you want to picture my face on your boyfriends body or scream my name in a moment of ecstasy I cannot blame you. Who could?